Word of the Day: Manchester.

According to the English, to all intents and purposes Manchester is a city in northwestern England, located 30 miles to the east of Liverpool, in the heart of the most densely populated area of England.

So when I quoted on my inventory of items to be left in a storage facility here, that it would contain various items of Manchester, the guy behind the counter looked at me very strangely.

Try looking for a definition of Manchester on the web that does not include the words Australia or New Zealand, and you'd understand why. Only antipodeans call sheets and towels Manchester. To the rest of the world, the word generally means the home of the Soccer - sorry, I mean football (sheesh!) - team, Manchester United.

In England, what we Aussies consider Manchester, they call soft goods. I've been looking for a reason why we call it Manchester, but I can't find one on the web at least. I guess it's because some Australian factory imported soft goods from Manchester and it's another one of these instances where the name got extrapolated from the product name to come to mean the product but I can't prove it. If anyone can elucidate me, please do!

I'll just have to be more diligent in my use of words in future.

Aunt Millie's Garden - Block 1

I just finished the first block of a needle turn quilt called Aunt Millie's Garden. I am very proud of the way it turned out so I thought I'd start documenting my quilting achievements as they happen for your edification and my bragging rights I suppose.

So, here is Block 1 of my interpretation of Aunt Millie's Garden:

EuroVision

Well, I watched both semi-finals and the finals of the Eurovision song contest for the first time this year. I think I saw the final in 2007, also when staying with Helen and Johan by no form of coincidence what-so-ever, which was my only previous acquaintance with it.

I don’t believe I would ever have decided to voluntarily watch it but having done so, it was nowhere near as excruciating as I expected it to be. If fact, I quite enjoyed it. I’m not sure if this was because the singers this year only very occasionally hit bung notes or the fact that I couldn’t understand a word the commentators said so I wasn’t distracted by them but it wasn’t that bad.

Of course, the Russian hosts and half-time entertainment they put on for both semi’s were rather horrid (the song contest was held in Moscow this year), but apart from the inane chatter, too-close-smooching, fully uniformed red-army choir, baby-pink tank and furry baby-blue fighter plane, the rest was ok.

And at the finals they had hosts that could speak both English and French and had cirque du soleil and some very interesting interpretive dance for the entertainment (people on see-through platforms awash with water high above the audience were gradually lowered down so the splashing they did was very visible), so that was good too.

I even liked the act from Norway that won – ‘I’m in love with a fairy tale’. Cool.

So yeah. It was Ok.

Experience ticked.

Stockholm Part 1

Sorry - Stockholm can wait.

Yes there is a missing 2.5 weeks I need to account for and at some stage soonish, I will, but I haven't gotten around to writing it up yet (Note to self, write as you go, don't leave it 'till afterward). Since there are now several new blogs stacked up behind the Stockholm ones waiting for me to publish them, I'm going to do just that and do a catch up for Stockholm sometime later.

So, watch this space!

What a crock of shite!

Am at Heathrow terminal 5. The vaunted new one. I got here early ‘cause the Piccadilly line isn’t so reliable that I’d trust it to get me here on time. And I’ve now been turned away from the bag drop desk twice. The first time they said I couldn’t drop my bags until three hours before the flight. The second time, when it was three hours before, they told me not until two hours. So I’m missing my breakfast courtesy of BA and their fricken time limits. Not happy Jan. I can see why the poms end up whinging. Their service is terrible! I did the same thing in Melbourne and was five hours early and they still took my suitcase. So I could then relax. Grrr…

Edit to add: the last was written at 08:30. It is now 12:00 and it's better. After a very annoying morning, I am now in the lounge and I have to admit, it's the best lounge I've been in. There is a breakfast bar with five or six choices of cereal, and four different kinds of fresh fruit not to mention rolls and croissants - both chocolate and normal - and all of a decent size, none of this tiny bite-sized pieces. So, ok. It's better than expected. Still not really relaxed though.

British Museum and National Gallery.

I was unprepared to have been so prepared yesterday and so had nothing to do today so I went and played tourist (see last blog). For some unknown reason, I hadn’t managed to get to either the British Museum nor the National Gallery last time I was here, so decided to tick a few more boxes with those two.

To be honest, the only reason I wanted to go to the Brit Museum was for something called the reading room – a huge circular library. Anyone who knows me knows my predilection for books and anything resembling a book shop or library. So imagine my disappointment on getting to the museum to find it was being used as and exhibition space which cost money to get into and that all the books had been removed for the duration anyway so there really was no point in me seeing it. I wandered around semi-aimlessly for a while and saw some of the other displays. I did like seeing the Rosetta stone and some of the medieval stuff was very cool – especially the swords. But I kind of felt let down after that.

The National Gallery was beautiful though, if a tad stuffy – one felt like a child that had to be constantly reminded of good behaviour. I got told off ‘cause I didn’t turn off my mobile and someone had the indecency to ring me. Gah! No photos allowed either which was annoying. All due reverence to the institution but I found that my jet lag didn’t really permit me to enjoy it much.

So my day was a little lacking. I can probably put it down to tiredness too, but there were also an awful lot of people around. This was due to a bank holiday I had failed to get wind of but I was pretty unhappy and quite annoyed at having to push my way through a whole load of Muppets.

Ah well. Next time better luck.

Sometimes I amaze even myself!

Hello from London!

I have arrived. Now to find a job. I had no problems getting here bar a relatively minor delay in flights that saw me asleep as soon as we took off - which was all to the good really.

Got to Rich & Hill's place last night in a jet-lagged stupor but managed to get the bed set up and then thought it was really too early to sleep so went and pulled out the stuff I'd left here last year to see what I had.

For the past few weeks I've been racking my brains at home thinking... now where did I leave my A-Z, and where on earth were my new sneakers stored, and should I pack a towel 'cause I'd no earthly idea where mine were, and had I perhaps left my London lonely planet with Jason? Well, no. I'd left all these things and more in the one place I'd need them first. Right here. You could have knocked me over with a feather when all the things I'd been hoping to find were right where I needed them. And I don't remember thinking about this when I left the UK the first time but I must have. So really, really thank you brain! For once, the anal thing paid off huge dividends.

Of course, my Swedish money and maps are not here as I hadn't planned on going to Helen's immediately when I left, but on a scale of one-to-ten, that's a minus one for worry.

Huge sigh of relief. Well done me. So instead of hunting for things today, I can play tourist. Going to head to the British museum I think.

Airport Lounge Blues...

I'm singing... no, not really. But it's 10.20pm and I was supposed to be on a plane now readying for take-off to the UK but instead am sitting in an airport lounge 'cause there's these delay things don't cha know. Last count, I might get on a plane at midnight. But they're not expecting take off until 12.30. AM. As in, early morning. And I've been going to bed at 9pm and getting up at 6.

Some people don't believe in O-six-hundred. I am having difficulty believing in O-one-hundred. *Sigh*

Countdown Begins

Five sleeps till take off. Crikey

I haven't caught up with everyone I wanted to and I'm already experiencing separation anxiety from my stuff. I haven't got a job yet and I have no idea where I'll be staying beyond the first two weeks. I'm still pretty bumed emotionally and am lacking the essential anticipation and excitement I think should go with such adventures. I want to take too much stuff with me and I don't have that much time left for all the things I'm supposed to do. I'm going to miss every member of my family like crazy and will especially miss the wonderful people in my life like Emma and Sally.

But it'll be much easier to see Helen over there and Jason and Rich are just around the corner and Marty will probably drop by and I'm looking forward to seeing Jane and Darren again so I won't be bereft. And I'll get to see Italy and Spain and the rest of Germany and Austria and more of France and Portugal and may even get to Greece some day... so it's not all bad. I just have to reorient and recalibrate my brain into accepting change again.

Think of all that ancient architecture waiting to be explored. Think of how you had tears in your eyes standing on the ramparts of a 2000 year old castle. Think of the fruit bear and divine chocolate. Think of seeing a different musical every night of the week for a month without repeats. Think of the amazing adventure of living in a different culture.

Bugger the expense, bugger the cold, bugger the smog, bugger the fear.

Live!

Running out of time

I am at my second to last day of work. I should be dancing. I should be excited. I should be planning furiously for all the things I have to get done in the dwindling time remaining to me in this country. Unfortunately, due to a death in the family two weeks ago, almost all that excitement and anticipation has drained out of me, leaving only stress and sadness behind.

For me, happiness is loud and public whilst sadness is quite quiet and private. I'll talk about my uncle when I've processed his passing, but in the mean time, please excuse my absence from this venue and my lack of count-down screams. My date for departure is May 2. You will undoubtedly hear from me before then, when I'm back in action and in panic mode, probably as I'm running around like a headless chicken and cursing that I didn't plan for all this earlier... as in normal... well, as normal as I get anyway.